just a heartache in disguise
by TheVerbalThing ComesAndGoes
Summary: Puck is gone and she's left standing in the middle of the hallway, with Finn by her side. She knows that's the way it's supposed to be, but somehow, it still feels wrong. Quinn/Puck


just a heartache in disguise

Summary: Puck is gone and she's left standing in the middle of the hallway, with Finn by her side. She knows that's the way it's supposed to be but, somehow, it still feels wrong. Quinn/Puck

Setting: pre- "the whole world knows Quinn's knocked up", season 1.

**A/N: **first dabble in the "glee" world so characters might not be completely down, but it is an attempt. read, review and all that.

* * *

><p>She snags the wine cooler from his hands before he can protest and takes a sip, completely secure in the knowledge that he's watching her as she tips her head back and swallows the drink. It's a cold and welcome relief against her dry throat.<p>

The drink tastes sweet and fruity but it has just enough bite to simultaneously calm her nerves and distract her all at once. Puck's hand is warm on her thigh underneath her skirt and with his lips on her neck it's so much easier to forget those extra three pounds the scale read; to forget the way Finn just can't seem to _stop _staring at Rachel lately; but mostly, _mainly_, to forget the fact that she's been thinking about this moment and imagined its outcome, just a little, long before any of that ever happened.

Her fingers find their way to the back of Puck's head, threading through the strands and tugging the fine hair just at the base of his skull to get him to look up at her with half-lidded eyes and a smirk on his lips. "What?" he asks.

"I'm such a cliché," she laughs, a sardonic and humorless chuckle. He frowns and for a moment Quinn wonders if he's confused about what the word means.

"How's that?"

(She realizes then that she's never really given him enough credit. Maybe she should start.)

Quinn scoffs. "Look at me. God, I'm pathetic. What do you see in me?" She's sitting on his lap now, straddling his thighs, though she can't really remember when it is that she moved there.

"Enough," Puck admits quietly.

* * *

><p>Culpability is not a concept that she's exactly familiar with.<p>

She _is, _however, familiar with shifting the blame onto others - it's an act that Quinn has essentially turned into an art form.

Quinn blames her mother's passivity and eagerness to simply hand her father a drink in order to avoid any "unpleasant conversation"; she blames Rachel for manipulating Finn into joining glee club - probably as payback for all the times Quinn tortured her - and simultaneously ruining Quinn's reputation; she blames Finn for spending every free moment talking about _Rachel Berry, _the show choir freak; she blames Puck for taking advantage of her at a weak moment and calling her beautiful.

(But she doesn't blame herself for falling for it. She _can't_.)

"I had sex with you because you got me drunk on wine coolers and I was feeling fat," she admits coldly, her eyes narrowed. She takes a step back, arms crossed defensively over her waist, putting the necessary space between them. "But it was a mistake."

Puck sneers, never one to be intimidated, and takes a step forward. "Which time?"

* * *

><p>It's not that there are feelings there.<p>

There can't be; she knows this. It's a fact that she's reminded herself of every time she sleeps with him.

Having feelings for _him _would ruin everything. Finn is the quarterback and Puck isn't; he's next in line, sure, but not the top. (_Good but not quite good enough_.) Finn is leadership material, the golden boy, and everyone knows this. Puck is just his mo-hawked best friend, that boy who has one foot set permanently in detention hall and the other headed towards juvie.

But sometimes, Puck _looks_ at her - like he can see right through her, understand her - in a way that Finn (who always seems to be in a state of perpetual awe and reverence) never has.

And honestly, sometimes it's hard to decide which one she prefers.

* * *

><p>She remembers the first time, she cried for hours afterward.<p>

It was strange, because Quinn never expected to _actually_ feel guilty. But she prayed for forgiveness because that was what she was supposed to do and sleeping with Puck was _so _wrong and she knew that. She did.

(But what she also knew, without a doubt and with complete certainty, was that she wasn't sorry and that she wasn't going to let a little guilt stop her from getting what she wants.)

* * *

><p>She shivers. His hands slowly skim her hips as his lips slide down her neck, teeth nipping her skin in between kisses, coming to a stop at the delicate skin of her collarbone where he exhales, at the light sensation of his breath tickling her just above her breasts.<p>

And she shivers.

Her response to his touch has always been visceral and involuntary, completely out of her realm of control, and he's yet to miss an opportunity to exploit it. He laughs and Quinn hitches her legs higher up his waist.

"I hate you," she hisses into his mouth, but it comes out wrong; her voice is breathy and she is so affected by his proximity and she can tell from the way he's looking at her that he doesn't quite believe her. (At least, not in _this_ moment.)

She can admit, it's easier to see the best in someone when they're lying in bed beside you, but the lines are blurred and she's no longer wholly convinced or sure of what this is.

"No you don't."

Her eyes slide shut, seemingly of their own volition, as his finger makes a slow path from Quinn's bare shoulder up the column of her neck to the curve of her jaw and back down again. He seems different tonight - she is reluctant to use the word '_tender_' to describe him - and Quinn doesn't ask why. It's not as if she doesn't _want_ to know the answer, but her fear of the unknown outweighs her curiosity.

Puck's voice comes unexpected in the quiet of the night, startling her, though she does well in hiding it. "You going to tell him about this?"

"_No_. Why would I?"

"Honesty is the number one policy in celibacy club, right?" He smirks, a cocky quirk of his lips that she loves to claim to hate. (Suddenly, she's not so sure.) The smirk on his lips and the mocking undercurrent to his voice only add to the venom of her tone.

"Shut up."

"…You in love with him?" The question catches Quinn off guard - even though, for all intents and purposes, it shouldn't. It's just mildly disconcerting that he's asking her about Finn when she's naked in his bed and pressed against him, her legs entwined with his.

Quinn scoffs. "We're in _high school. _Don't be stupid-"

"It's pretty much a yes or no question."

She can't say no - it would ruin everything. (She just can't say yes either.)

* * *

><p>She's not the kind of girl this happens to.<p>

It's an empty reassurance that she clings to with a desperation that burns her insides as she paces the tiled floor of the bathroom, chewing anxiously on a fingernail until the metallic taste of blood fills her mouth. Quinn eyes the test sitting on the counter with disdain; she shouldn't even have to _do_ this, because she knows -

She stops, shakes her head, reminds herself that she's worrying for nothing.

It won't happen to her. It _cannot_ happen to her. She's not the kind of girl this happens to. (She can be the kind of girl who fools around with her boyfriend's best friend in secret but she _can't_ be the kind of girl who gets pregnant at sixteen.) Her mother's told her about "those girls" and made it no secret of her opinion of them; Quinn knows, without needing to ask, that if she becomes one of "those girls" blood ties and a mother's love won't matter in the face of Judy and Russel Fabray's scorn.

She's not the kind of girl this happens to.

Two pink lines appear one after the other on the pregnancy test sitting on the bathroom counter and immediately she tosses it in the trash, bitter tears blurring her vision. Quinn resolves then to hate the color forever, as if that will somehow absolve her from the truth she just confirmed.

(Three days later when she vomits up her breakfast, she realizes the truth: it doesn't.)

* * *

><p>Finn's naïveté has always appealed to her more controlling nature and though his need to always see the best in everyone can at times be a double-edged sword, it's a comfort when she's faced with Puck - the one who knows her faults and has a few of his own.<p>

It will never be as easy as choosing one over the other, especially now.

"…I'm pregnant." It doesn't feel better to admit it out loud, especially once the look of terror crosses Finn's face, draining it of any color. She tells him a lie about a hot tub and holes in swimsuit wear because it's easier and more convenient than the truth:

She's known, since day one, that Puck has the ability to break her heart. With Finn, she's never really been afraid of that possibility coming to life.

When she tells Puck of her decision to stay with Finn, he calls her "fucking selfish" and a coward. In spite of the fact that she somewhat agrees with him - never out loud - she can't help but call him out on his hypocrisy.

"And you had no problem screwing his girlfriend behind his back, either, Puck, so what does that make you?"

"What about the baby?"

"What _about _it?" she hisses. It's not the worst thing she can say, she knows this, but it's enough to end the conversation Quinn doesn't know if she'll ever be ready to have.

* * *

><p>Her cheerleading uniform is snug in all the wrong places but she still manages to slide the zipper all the way to the top of her red skirt.<p>

Quinn walks down the hall with her head raised high and Finn's hand firmly wrapped around hers. She doesn't hesitate or falter in her step; her stride is determined and focused - until Puck catches her eye and when he looks at her there is something in his gaze that Quinn isn't used to seeing: disappointment.

She stumbles and forces a smile when Finn catches her elbow, keeping her on balance. When she looks up again, Puck is gone and she's left standing in the middle of the hallway, with Finn by her side.

She knows that's the way it's supposed to be, but somehow, it still feels wrong.

* * *

><p>Finn grabs her hand before she can pull her top back down, seconds after the OB has wiped the gel off her stomach and left the room. The sonogram is over and Finn's holding a printout of the baby girl growing inside of Quinn - the image she doesn't want to see, the reality she can't yet bring herself to face.<p>

He places his hand over her stomach. The swell of her abdomen is slight, noticeable only in the absence of clothes. "Don't-" She bites her lip, suddenly unable to let out the cruel quip that comes to mind about priorities and his obsession with Rachel Berry - anything that could hurt him in a desperate attempt to ignore what she's feeling.

"We could - we could keep her, maybe," he murmurs and the declaration of hope isn't so much surprising as it is heartbreaking. She doesn't know how she feels, or what she wants, but it's become glaringly obvious that Finn's of the belief that they'll be a nice little cozy family of three - all before they graduate high school. It sounds equal parts terrifying and

He's looking at the swell of Quinn's stomach, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping open in wonderment, when he says this and she wishes he would move his hand so she could pull her shirt back down.

Quinn doesn't respond; her mind is focused instead on a faraway image of a little girl with blond hair and hazel eyes and everything that could happen if she just told the truth, right now.

* * *

><p>She's walking down the relatively empty hallway, her books pressed close to her chest, partially covering her stomach; she's still paranoid that anyone could just look at her and <em>see<em> the truth, know what she's hiding. A hand reaches out and grabs her arm, pulling her around the corner. It's Puck. Of course. They see each other all the time but she hasn't spoken to him in days, haven't slept together since the day before she told Finn that she was pregnant.

"_Puck_, what are you _doing_-"

"You tell him the truth or I will."

She shakes her head, because she knows better. "No you won't."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because you have just as much to lose as I do."

* * *

><p>She can feel her mother's eyes on her at times: assessing, questioning, wondering. Watching.<p>

Quinn walks through the halls of her house with baited breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She's standing in the kitchen and helping her mother to prepare an apple pie for after dinner, nearly sick with how Stepford and suburban the entire scene is. The mood in the room is awkward, even more tense than usual, as Quinn tries to pretend she can't feel her mother eying her carefully obscured bulge while her mother pretends she doesn't _know_ that her worst fear has come true: her perfect, pristine daughter becoming one of "those girls". "Quinn..."

"Yes?" she turns to face her. She meets Judy's gaze dead-on, one eyebrow raised in a combination of fear of determination, daring her in a silent battle of wills to call Quinn out on her secret, daring her to _say something_.

"I can do the pie crust. You go on and...finish your homework."

Quinn sighs, letting out the breath she hadn't known she was holding. She should have known. Because in spite of the fact that Quinn's mother has had her eyes practically trained on her expanding waistline, Quinn knows as she watches her mother mix Russel's drink - whiskey sour, to be ready along with dinner when he comes home from the office in fifteen minutes - that Judy Fabray will never confront her.

* * *

><p>In the middle of the night, cramps hit her with a force to be reckoned with and the realist within her isn't surprised when she sees the blood.<p>

In the midst of the shock, she thinks of calling Puck - she _wants_ to call Puck - and her fingers hover over his number for an indiscernible amount of time before she reminds herself, _You chose Finn. _

Finn cries when the ER doctor confirms what she already knew. Quinn doesn't.

She tells her mother she has the flu - it's the only lie she can think of that she knows Judy will delude herself into believing the most - and crawls into bed, hiding underneath fluffy pink pillows and a Disney comforter she's had since she was twelve. Puck calls her when she doesn't come to school the next day but she sends every one of his calls to voice mail and ignores all of his text messages. She can't sleep, though, and the constant buzzing of her phone is both comforting and irritating; she answers once, whispering _"stop"_ before hanging up without giving him a chance to respond. He doesn't call back. She hates that even though there's no more baby, he's still doing what she asks of him.

She tells herself it's better this way, easier for everyone involved (one less lie she has to tell, one less secret she has to keep). She never had the chance to figure out when and how to tell her parents; the only ones at school who knew about the pregnancy are in glee club. It's just easier this way.

It's a mantra Quinn repeats to herself everyday for weeks afterward. Her Cheerios uniform still fits - she hasn't been eating regularly, but it's easier to believe it's because she simply doesn't have time - and she remains at the tops of the pyramid, where she's worked so hard to be. In spite of everything, she and Finn are still together (_"power couple"_, she reminds herself, _"future prom king and queen"_ - though the ideal echoes hollowly in the back of her mind) even if when they walk down the halls holding hands she finds that their grip isn't as strong as it used to be.

It's better this way, she thinks.

"Quinn?"

Her eyes snap open; she hadn't even realized they were closed, didn't even notice that she's been standing at the sinks in the bathroom with her hand pressed tightly against her stomach, her nails digging into her flesh. The water is running in one of the sinks in front of her and Quinn isn't entirely sure how long she's been here.

"Are you okay?" Of _course_ it's Rachel, one of the last people Quinn wants to see, standing primly before her, in an outfit consisting of a hideously innocent animal sweater and knee socks. She shakes her head, taking a step towards Quinn and looking at her imploringly. "What am I saying? Of course you're not okay... I-I know that we're not exactly friends, Quinn, but I just wanted to say that I'm so sorry...about what happened. I mean I've never experienced a miscarriage firsthand, obviously, but-"

At the word _'miscarriage'_ Quinn visibly flinches, wrapping her arms tightly around her middle.

"...I've done some research and I read that some women go through depression when they lose-"

Quinn shakes her head, having a pretty clear idea what it is that Rachel's going to say next. And she's not sticking around to hear about what _Rachel _thinks Quinn feels about _her_… miscarriage. She walks past her and out the bathroom door, ignoring the fact that she left the running water in the sink and paper towels on the floor, simply relieved to have found an escape. (At least for the moment.)

* * *

><p>His truck is parked near the exit the Cheerios use to leave the locker rooms after practice. She's been avoiding him, an impressive feat considering they share half their classes and glee together and Puck's stubbornness has known no bounds in the past, and she hasn't exactly made an effort to hide the fact.<p>

Quinn sighs in resignation, knowing she's put this off long enough, before following Puck inside his truck without a word. They drive around in silence for awhile, a thing that Quinn is grateful for; she thinks she may have filled her quota for meaningless conversations and idle chatter, that in the end truly do mean nothing to her.

"You could've called me," he says finally. "I would've been there."

Quinn lifts her head up from where it was resting against the window. "And told Finn, what, exactly?"

"Fuck, Quinn, I don't _care_ what you would've had to tell Finn!"

She shakes her head adamantly trying to ignore the way his tone has suddenly switched from calm and neutral to raw and emotional. "It was easier—"

"Yeah, for _you_ maybe! But not for me." His grip tightens noticeably on his steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. Puck turns to look at her and her breath catches at the back of her throat, just a little, when she takes notice of his red-rimmed eyes. "Are you even - does it even fucking _bother_ you?"

"Of course it does!" she snaps, turning angrily to face him. Only her vision has suddenly become blurred and her voice and loud and unsteady (and she absolutely hates how she's constantly losing control around him) and it isn't Puck pulls her toward him that she finally realizes she's crying. She buries her face into his neck, clinging to him without thinking about what it looks like or what it means - just that, she realizes as his arms wrap around her - it's something she's needed for awhile now. "I'm sorry," she murmurs into his shoulder, her voice hoarse from crying. "I'm _so _sorry." She doesn't pull back to see his reaction to her words, partly in fear, partly in embarrassment at her uncharacteristic display of emotion.

"…me too."

"I didn't know if I wanted to keep her but I didn't want…_this_. I didn't mean for this to happen—"

"Yeah, I know."

* * *

><p>They meet fairly regularly, always after Quinn has gotten her fill of those sad and pitied gazes from her mother, faraway looks that are always tinged with just a hint of disappointment, after he has left the silence of his own house surprisingly unable to sustain the silent treatment his mother's giving, always in the middle of the night.<p>

(It's just asking for trouble.)

Talking about the baby she always said she never really wanted is harder than she thought, causing Quinn to realize that nothing is ever simple, and the world does exist in shades of gray and it's not a sin for her to be sad or feel guilty - or even the tiniest bit relieved.

Sleeping with him in the back of his truck is terribly clichéd, she knows, and the opposite of what she knows she should do. (They're a bad idea, the two of them, and they always seem to come together only to ruin each other - and any one who happens to be in the way - in the process.) It's a bad idea, and she knows this.

She does it anyway.


End file.
